Light on a Distant Hill
by Videre
Summary: [postDH] Grief threatens to tear the once rocksolid Weasley family to pieces. With one brother lost and two brothers almost beyond saving, the appearance of a familiar, odd girl may be an unexpected chance for them to begin to heal. [A GW and LL story]
1. Prologue

**A/N:** DH spoilers up the wazoo! Don't read this if you aren't finished or don't want to be spoiled.

Anyway, this story was started on a whim when I finished DH and was left curious about the fate of two of my absolute favorite characters. After some thought I realized that I could resolve both in one fell swoop AND help myself say goodbye to one of my other favorite characters. So this story was born. I can't be the only one that likes this pair! Besides, I may not make this a romantic story depending on the reviews I get. If you all would like to see a GW/LL romance, let me know! If not, let me know that too. Without further ado, I give you...**  
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**Light on a Distant Hill**

_When hard times fall_

_and good times fade,_

_always, always, always_

_keep a weather eye out _

_for light on a distant hill._

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**Prologue  
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For a person who had spent most of his life being as loud as he could possibly be, George Weasley was vaguely surprised to find that silence came quite naturally to him. He could sit amid his family as the spoke, laughed and wept and never have even the slightest urge to join them. Instead he would wonder about odd, unrelated things that seemed somehow much nearer to him then his emotional family. "Would Hogwarts ever be able to keep a Defense Against the Dark Arts for more than a year?" or " Did Harry realize that he had a very small piece of roast carrot in his hair?" 

He knew it didn't matter, but it made sense to him, so he let himself think such silly thoughts until they inevitably lead back to _him_ and were added to his list of things he couldn't dwell on.

He knew it worried his family. One disadvantage of his newfound silence, he discovered, was that it sometimes made is nearly impossible to avoid eaves-dropping on them. Their voices would carry though rooms and walls, and against his will he would hear their fretful murmurs echo into his room. They always said his name in a hushed, worried tone and often in conjunction with words like "shock", "depression" and occasionally "unhealthy."

Sighing, George shifted restlessly in his seat by the window.

He didn't mean to worry them, He just couldn't make himself act any differently, no matter how hard he tried.

His distant gaze out the window shifted from a young gnome digging about in the garden to the sun-kissed hill he could see just beyond where the Weasley property ended. The side of it facing the sunset was a warm gold-brown color in the waning light, the tall grass rippling invitingly in the breeze.

Turing away, George rose stiffly from his spot by the window and began to make his way across the room he used to share with his lost brother. It seemed old and empty now, but he had refused Ron's offer to switch rooms weeks ago and didn't intend to change his mind.

The old stairs creaked beneath his feet as he descended towards the kitchen. He wasn't hungry, but eating was a habit he knew better than to let himself break.

He passed Percy's closed door quietly, feeling a small pang of something hurtful deep in his chest. From what he had heard from his family's hushed conversations Percy wasn't taking it much better than he was. He didn't know how to react to that. He didn't exactly want Percy to suffer, yet some small, evil part of him blamed his older brother for not saving his dead twin. If _he_ had been there, he would have been watching his brother's back, like always. Maybe if he had been there he wouldn't be missing so much more than an ear.

He looked away from the old, wooden door and hurried down the rest of the stairs looking straight ahead.

When he reached the kitchen Ginny looked up at him from the table, placing the quill she was using back into its inkwell. It looked like she was in the middle of writing a long letter to Harry.

"George," she said, sounding surprised and slightly awkward. Her posture and voice gave off the distinct impression of a person that had walked in on something private.

George gave her only a small, jerk-like nod in response before walking past her to the cabinets where they stored food.

He pulled out a magically preserved piece of cake that he had the sneaking suspicion may have once been part of Bill's wedding cake. While magic had kept it from going bad, George eyed it suspiciously before setting it aside. No piece of cake lasted that long in the Weasley house without good reason.

Settling on a large granny smith apple, George made his retreat from the kitchen, Ginny's worried hazel eyes burning into the spot just between his shoulder-blades all the while.

Having escaped to the mud room, George placed the apple between his teeth and pulled on an old pair of boots that may or may not have been his own. Not bothering to tie the laces, he stepped out the door on the opposite side of the room and into the backyard.

It was a warm and breezy evening. The occasional sounds of chickens clucking and scratching softly about the yard and the scuffle of little gnome feet were accompanied by the constant rustle of leaves in the wind. It was an odd cacophony of sounds, and George walked further back into the yard to escape it as best he could. He moved away from his house quickly and soon found himself at the edge of the property by the golden hill he had seen from his window.

In the time since he had seen it from his bedroom window the light on the hill had gone from a warm gold to a deep pinkish color. He couldn't see the sun itself hidden behind the swell of land, but the sky and clouds were a wild mess of warm yellows and purples streaking this way and that from the horizon.

Making his decision, George slowly began to pick his way up the hill. It was a slow task, not only because the hill was steep and George's legs slightly stiff but also because his feet would occasionally get caught in the foliage or he would step on one of his own untied shoelaces and stumble.

Finally he arrived on the top of the hill, tired but mildly pleased. He picked a comfortable looking spot with lower, softer grass and settled down to watch the remainder of the sunset.

It was the first time in his life he could remember taking time to simply sit and watch something like a sunset. It was beautiful but somehow terribly sad.

Leaning back onto the grass, he put his arms behind his head and gazed upwards. The first star of the evening was twinkling dully in the distance but the moon was either completely new or hidden behind a cloud. Either way, it eluded his searching eyes and left him to bathe freely in the falling darkness.

Time passed, his eyelids drooped and memories flitted across his mind in a dim, sleepy way. Only when his mind was barely free from sleep did he let himself truly feel the overwhelming grief that threatened to suffocate him. It was like a wall between him and everyone else, cutting him off from everything he had left in the world.

They would heal in time. He would not.

Just before he fell into the arms of sleep, he found himself wondering if Fred had ever taken time to just watch the sun set.

Somehow he thought not.

Crushed under the terrible weight of that thought, he finally surrendered to oblivion.

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**A/N:** A rather boring epilogue, but necessary. I hope you enjoyed it anyway. xD I'll try to get the next chapter out soon! 

EDIT: Hahaha... Thanks Belle and Morkhan for pointing out that I meant "Prologue" NOT "Epilogue." Silly, silly mistake on my part. Much love, guys. 3

-Vi


	2. Expectations

**A/N: **I got this one out unusually fast! Thanks for the reviews everyone, I really appreciate them. Special thanks to the people that helped out with the mistakes I made. I don't have a beta, so it's hard sometimes.**  
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**Chapter 1**

**"Expectations"**

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There is nothing peaceful about sleep when you are actually doing it. Everything floats away and leaves you completely unknowing of the peace that you should have supposedly fallen into. Instead you are either left with a complete lack of any conscious feeling or drawn through a number of thoughts, memories and dreams that, more often then not, are complete nonsense by the time you process them in the morning.

No, the true moment of peace is that first moment you begin the gain consciousness before your brain catches up with the rest of you. There is no past or future in the moment, and only in that tiny span of time can you really feel truly at peace. Then it all starts to flood back and you are left again waiting through your entire day for the next fleeting moment when everything would be right in the world once more.

Lying in the grass, eyes still closed, George sighed deeply. He vaguely noted that his back and arms were slightly damp and he could see the deep scarlet of his eyelids in the rising sun.

Slowly peeling one dull blue eye open, he observed the morning sky. It wasn't as dramatic as the sunset had been last night, but there was a fresh sort of beauty to it anyway. Clouds floated lazily overhead, fluffy, soft-looking and slightly golden in the new light.

Opening his other eye, he propped himself up on his elbows to peer tiredly out at the land stretched in front of him. It was far greener than he had thought the night before, though still possessing a golden undertone. Varying grasses and undergrowth grew thickly over the softly rolling land stretched out in front of him, occasionally peppered with colorful wildflowers or a small tree of some sort.

Far in the distance he thought he could see the the faint figure of one of the women in the village kneeling in grass, gathering herbs.

Leaning back into the dewy grass, he closed his eyes again. He wasn't ready to be awake just yet. Everything was too glaring this time of morning.

Sleep eluded him, though. He lay still and quiet, but a thousand thoughts flitted unbidden across his mind. Everything he had tried to ignore, tried to forget, in the past couple weeks was spiraling around in his head in a wild sort of dance, growing every more tangled and awful with each second. No matter how much he tried to ignore the chaos in his head it stubbornly kept him miserable and totally awake.

"Oh. Good morning, George," said a breathy voice suddenly from just above where he was laying.

His eyes snapped open in surprise, then quickly closed when the glare of sunlight burned into his over-dilated pupils. Trying again more slowly, the silhouette of a slender woman appeared above him. She had a wicker basket clasped in her small, thin hands and was wearing a flowing white dress that was more like and an oversized peasant tunic then anything else.

He blinked a couple times, trying to center his overwhelmed mind.

"Luna?" he said, finally realizing exactly who he was looking at.

She nodded slightly, her long, tangled blond hair falling in her face. Without a word, she settled daintily onto the grass by his side, carefully setting her basket by her side. Her dress pooled around her as she stretched out her long, thin legs and wiggled her bare toes in the grass.

She said nothing. They sat together in silence, gazing out at the grassy fields in front of them waving in the wind. It was almost surreal sitting there with a girl he barely knew, just watching the world in comfortable silence.

His gaze shifted to the basket sitting between them, which appeared to be full of odd, compact yellow flowers. She had taken them out of the earth whole, root and all.

"What are these?" he asked before he could stop himself. While he was surprised by his own curiosity, Luna seemed to be expecting it.

"It's black medick," she said simply, "for a potion Daddy is going to make."

George had never heard of back medick as a potion ingredient or otherwise but chose to keep his mouth shut. He probably didn't want to know what Loony Lovegood and her crazy father were planning to do with the little yellow flowers.

"I thought I might have seen a flower fairy on one, but it turned out to be a most unusual beetle instead," she said, "Look."

She reached for her left shoulder, patted along it then up into her hair, searching, until she finally plucked something from the mass of hair behind her left ear. Seemingly not bothered by the fact she had just pulled a bug out of her hair, she opened her fist to show him a shiny red beetle. It had two lopsided black spots on its rounded back that gave off the odd impression of large, sad eyes gazing up at him.

"I've named him Harold," she told him, like she was introducing a relative, then offered him the hand containing the oversized ladybug.

George looked at the girl in front of him with dim amazement. She really was loony.

Seeming to realize he didn't want to hold Harold, Luna withdrew her pale little hand. Placing the beetle back onto her shoulder, she collected her basket to rise. Harold scurried frantically down her back as she stood.

Worried for a moment that he had hurt her feelings, he opened his mouth to apologize, but never got the chance.

"Well, it was nice seeing you George," she said in her normal dreamy tone. He could tell that she was being sincere, though he had hardly been good company. Then again, she always seemed sincere to him.

"Yeah, you too," he said, not sure if he meant it or not. It was vaguely interesting if nothing else.

"You should probably go home soon too," she called softly over her shoulder as she walked down the hill slope, swinging her basket by her side like a child, "Your family might be worried."

It wasn't until he was watching her shapeless white-clad form disappear behind a hill that he realized that despite being decidedly loony, his longtime neighbor was completely right. His mother was surely not happy to wake up and find him gone, and there was no way they could have seen him from the Burrow, facing away and surrounded by grass as he was.

Standing up and dusting the bits of dirt and plant off his trousers, he turned and gave his home a long look. He knew he needed to go back, but some part of him didn't want to. He would be scolded, and whispered about and pulled into forced conversations about things that didn't matter anymore... and he almost wished he could just leave it all behind. They would be okay without him eventually.

Shaking his head, he began to descend down the hillside towards his little, crooked house.

Someday maybe he would really do it... start walking away and never come back. But not yet. Even if it was only in body, they needed him home now so they could murmur quietly amongst themselves about how "at least we still have George."

As he carefully picked his way through the overgrown garden there was a great bang and a startled shout. George jumped slightly in shock, his feet trampling some of his mother's seedlings as his head whipped around in surprise.

His mother ran towards him, her arms thrown wide from her body and her skirt catching and tearing in the undergrowth. She looked utterly disheveled. Before he could react she was in front of him throwing her arms around him.

"George! Where have been?" she cried as she put a hand behind his head and squashed him against her chest. She patted his back and smoothed his hair down like she used to when he was a child. Pressed as he was into her chest, he was horrified to notice she was close to tears.

"Mum..." he murmured, trying to ignore the twinge of guilt he felt in his stomach, "I just feel asleep outside, is all-"

"That's ALL?" she hissed, her emotions taking a complete 180 degree turn. She pushed him away as suddenly as she had grabbed him and put her hands firmly on her hips, "You just fell asleep outside, IS ALL?"

George of all people knew exactly what the beginning of one of his mother's tirades looked like, and he instantly knew this was going to be a big one. He watched his formidable mother carefully. Her face was red and her eyes puffy, and he suddenly felt very far away from the situation. He should have felt awful for making her worry, but instead he suddenly felt very bored and a little angry.

"You know what it feels like to wake up and find you gone?" she cried, and he was reminded strongly of the time they arrived home after flying his father's car to free Harry years ago, "I can't believe you would do this to your family! Especially... e-especially since we just lost your brother! "

She lost her steam once the sentence was out of her mouth, seeming to realize what she had said. She placed her hand over her mouth in surprise.

"I'm not Fred, Mum," George found himself saying quietly, ignoring the falling look on his mother's face, "I'm just George, and my being here doesn't make him any less dead."

"Oh, George, I didn't mean it that way," she said sadly, reaching for his arm.

He jerked it out of her grasp and stepped around her. He knew it was cruel, but he couldn't look at his mother anymore. He pushed past her and into the house as quickly as he could.

He tore through the mud room and kitchen, ignoring the surprised look Ron sent him as he passed, dashing up the stairs to his room and locking the door.

As he stood with his back to the heavy wooden door, all the angry thoughts he had wanted to scream at his mother roared around in his head like an angry dragon.

He shouldn't have said anything, really, but it was so hard when he knew, he _knew..._

Some days they would stare and stare at him, their eyes devouring his every feature like they were starving for it. Those days he knew he wasn't just George to them, but a substitute Fred too. If they looked long enough, maybe they could even convince themselves that he _was_ Fred, back from the dead.

Other days they avoided him altogether, unable to bear the sight of him. They did it as politely as they could, staring at his shoes when they spoke to him or busying themselves with some other task and never turning towards him at all. These days he wasn't George either, but nothing more than a sad reminder of what they had lost.

The only time he was truly George to them anymore was when he was in another room, and they could whisper in worried voices about why he wasn't grieving properly.

Slowly he slid down his door into a heap on the floor.

He couldn't be what his family needed him to be. He couldn't be both Fred and George; he couldn't even really be George anymore.

His family was asking for so much more than he could give. He thought he might hate them a for it little, and that terrified him.

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** A/N:** So Luna makes a brief appearance! I'm taking it slow introducing her to the story for a couple reasons. Mainly because George doesn't know her very well and is too consumed by his grief to really reach out to her at this point. It'll take a while for her presence to make sense, but it'll come. 

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm not so sure about it. Anyway, thanks for reading, and I'd love to hear what you think.

-Vi


	3. Understanding

**A/N:** Hey guys! Thanks again for the encouraging reviews. I may not have a ton, but the ones I've gotten have been excellent. I love you guys! Anyway, after this chapter the rest may take a little longer to get out since I start back up at work tomorrow. I'll do my best to get it out soon. Anyway, onto chapter 2.**  
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**Chapter 2: **

**"Understanding"**

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When George woke up the next morning he was still on the floor where he had spent most of the previous day, propped up against his bedroom door. He shifted, then groaned as his stiff, sore muscles protested the movement painfully. He flopped limply back onto the door with a dull thud.

"Oww," he groaned, knowing he must be quite the spectacle just then.

He slowly stretched out his legs in front of him, wincing slightly as his knees began to ache as they straightened. He reached for his toes, hearing his back crack as he did. There was something vaguely satisfying about the nasty cracking and popping sounds that issued from his back and neck as he leaned forward.

Feeling a little better after his languid stretch, George slowly pulled himself to his feet. For lack of anything better to do he peered about his room in silence. It was a little messy, but mostly just emptier then he was used to it being. Most of his things were at the flat above the shop, but he couldn't bring himself to go back there. It seemed unfair to Fred to return to their stop when his brother would never be able to return to the place they have dreamed of for so long.

Giving his room one last lingering look, George opened the door to leave. He couldn't very well avoid seeing his family forever.

He walked down the creaky stairs as quickly as his sore joints would let him, stubbornly ignoring Percy's closed door as he passed by it. At the bottom of the landing he could see into the living room where his younger brother was reclining on the couch with a _Qudditch Today _magazine propped open on his chest. Judging by the dreamy look on his face, George had the distinct feeling Ron wasn't thinking about the Chudley Canons.

A small smile tugged on the corners of his mouth as he felt a brief surge of fondness for his younger brother. Whatever else could be said about him, George personally felt he had recently developed an excellent taste in girls.

"Hey, Ron," he called softly into the room, slightly amused to see the younger boy jump nearly off the couch in his surprise. Seeing George standing in the doorway, his long, freckly face flushed red in embarrassment.

"O-oh," he stammered, "Hey, George."

Judging by his reaction, George could guess his poor treatment of their mother yesterday wasn't exactly a secret (not that he expected anything to stay secret in the Burrow very long). Ron probably thought he would flip out at any moment and was carefully watching his word-choice to avoid setting him off.

Either that, sniped a dry voice in the back of his head, or he had interrupted some less than innocent daydreams.

Either way, he didn't want to find out. Giving his brother a small forced smile, he walked past the entrance of the living room and into the kitchen.

With a family as large as theirs, it was no surprise that the Weasley kitchen was rarely empty. As it was, George was pleased to find only one person in the room when he walked in.

Harry was reclining at the kitchen table, a massive pile of food steaming on the plate in front of him and fogging up his glasses. He was looking at the food with an unusual expression torn between amusement and embarrassment on his thin face. When he saw George enter the room and looked up and gave him a warm, lopsided smile.

"Hi, George," he said, "How've you been?"

It was a question no one had dared to ask him in a long time. A sudden surge of understanding passed between the two boys when their eyes met, and George understood that Harry knew whatever answer he was about to give would be a lie. He had only asked him because George's mother had just bustled into the room carrying a platter of sausages and needed to hear his answer.

"I'm getting along," he said simply, and Harry's green eyes crinkled slightly in sad understanding.

"Oh, George, dear, I didn't see you there," his mother said loudly when he spoke, though he was rather certain she had known he was there all along. She didn't look at him once as she bustled around the kitchen fixing him a plate of breakfast.

"How's Teddy doing?" George asked Harry, choosing to ignore his mother.

Harry's face lit up at the mention of his beloved godson. George couldn't ever remember seeing the young man look as content as he did in that moment.

"He's doing great," he said smiling, "His hair is red now. He almost looks like a little tiny Weasley."

Harry had been spending his time since the final battle moving between the Burrow, the Tonks household and number twelve Grimmauld Place. He had spent the last couple weeks with his godson, looking after the little baby he had quickly grown so fond of.

"I just can't wait to have a new baby in the family," his mother sighed pointedly from her spot by the counter. George resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He leaned over the table and whispered to Harry in conspiring tones.

"She's been pestering Bill and Fleur about a kid since the wedding," he rolled his eyes, "and has been dropping hints around Charlie and I about how happy she is that _most_ of her children have significant others."

Harry snickered through his mouthful of eggs, hiding it behind his napkin as Mrs. Weasley bustled over to place a plate in front of George. He looked down at his plate, his own comment making him think.

He hadn't even thought about trying to date since the conclusion of the war. It felt so weird to even think about trying to have any sort of romance when he couldn't even hold together the relationships that he already had with his family and friends. He still had a huge pile of letters from his friends sitting unopened on his nightstand. How on earth could his mother think he was interested in finding a significant other _now_?

Sighing, he stabbed a sausage link with his fork and took a large, uncouth bite out of it.

"George! Who taught you those manners, because it certainly wasn't-"

"Harry! You're here!"

Ginny's timely entrance didn't go unappreciated by either of the men in the room. Harry dropped his fork, stood and received Ginny's tackle-like hug with wild enthusiasm, swinging her around in his arms as she giggled delightedly. George took the opportunity to sneak out of the room unnoticed by either the happy couple or his mother who was watching them with a large grin on her face.

He found himself in the small, messy mud room once again. The old boots that may have been his were sitting by the door invitingly, seeming to beckon to him. He had no particular urge to go outside, but he certainly didn't want to go back to the kitchen now that the one person that seemed to understand a little was most likely snogging his little sister senseless. That would have left him practically alone with his mother, which was not something he was particularly looking forward to at the moment.

Decision made, he pulled on the old boots and stepped out the door once again. It was a slightly cooler day then the previous one, though possessing of a similar breeze. Altogether the weather wasn't half bad for escaping from overzealous mothers.

Glancing around the yard with a vaguely bored expression on his face, George spotted something unusual on the grassy hill that had he had slept the night before last.

It was a tall, four-legged figure silhouetted on top of the peak of the hill. He had never seen anything even a little like it before. A tickle of curiosity propelled him forward towards what was quickly become evident wasn't one four-legged figure, but two separate two-legged ones. He walked a little faster, drawn forward more with every detail the light revealed to him. By the time he reached the foot of the hill, he knew exactly what he was looking at.

Luna stood on top of the hill, dressed once again in clothes he was rather certain no other girl he knew would be caught dead in. She was wearing a pair of silky, flowing navy shorts that came to her knees and a white sleeveless shirt with birds embroidered all over it. A braided raffia belt was tied around her slender hips and the entire ensemble was topped off with an oversized, floppy straw sunhat.

More amazing then that, however, was the tall wooden easel that stood in front of her. It was old, made of lightly colored wood and had a half-finished painting propped up on it. Luna was observing the painting thoughtfully, twirling a paintbrush thoughtlessly in her left hand and tilting her head to the side. Apparently making a decision, she leaned close to the canvas and started making sweeping, haphazard strokes with her overloaded paintbrush.

Amazed and curious, George began to make his way up the hill, his eyes fixed on the almost ethereal figure standing on top of the hill. Not entirely sure why he was so drawn to her in that moment, he hesitated, then continued on. It didn't matter. Luna wouldn't mind his curiosity, so why should he?

"Hello, George," she said softly as he arrived behind her, never turning her head from the painting. Surprised into stillness, George stopped where he was. Luna spoke again, "I hope you're well."

"Yeah," he responded dumbly, his eyes fixed on the half-finished painting in front of them.

It was beautiful. The rolling, grassy hills in the picture were saturated with bright, warm colors and the sky was alight with the setting sun. It could have been his view of the sunset from the hill a few nights ago, yet he knew it wasn't. It was the view _of_ the hill that night, not from it. He could tell because the beginning of his own puff of orange hair and green sweater could be seen reclining on the ground, partially hidden by the tall grass.

"Is that me?" he said in amazement, though he already knew the answer.

"Oh, yes," she said, and he could see her smile faintly beneath her floppy sunhat, "I hope you don't mind."

"No," he breathed as her brush slowly added unbelievably accurate details to his face, "not at all."

They stood like that in silence for a long time, his eyes transfixed on the slowly developing painting Luna as working on. She was wondrously talented, her seemingly random brush strokes coming together to create an image that was both whimsically vibrant and still shockingly realistic. It was like he was seeing the world the way Luna must have seen if: full of color and wonder.

"You seem warmer today," Luna said suddenly, her dreamy blue eyes still on the painting.

"What do you mean?" he asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"You seem... calmer," she said after a moment, her voice flowing over him like water.

He said nothing simply because he did not know what to say. For the first time in a long time (or maybe ever) he felt introspective, trying to figure out if there was any truth to Luna's statement. Did he feel warmer? More at Peace?

He felt... sad. Empty. Helpless. But maybe, just maybe, the tiniest bit less alone then he had the night on the hill.

"I think," he said slowly, his own voice taking him by surprise, "having Harry around helps a little."

He didn't know why he was telling her this except that he knew she would listen and understand, maybe even more than he did.

Her large blue eyes peered out from behind her hat, finally landing on his. They were odd eyes... wide, pale and framed by thick brown lashes. They flickered over his face, somehow both dreamy and keenly observant. After a moment she nodded slightly, her hat brim bobbing in front of her face.

"Yes, he does have that effect," she agreed, turning back to her painting, "He always made me feel like I belonged. It was nice."

Neither of them elaborated on the brief exchange. They didn't need to.

"So, would you like me to model for you?" George joked weakly, striking a half-hearted pose. It was a pathetic shadow of his old humor, but it was enough to make Luna laugh happily. George dropped the pose, not waiting for an answer to settle down the grass beside Luna's brown ankle boots.

"Sure," she said, though she never looked at him for reference.

Sitting beside her thin, knobby legs, George watched her paint with distant eyes. She may have been loony but there was definitely more to her than he had originally assumed. She turned to him for a moment, she eyes catching his for a second before returning to her painting.

"You're difficult to paint," she told him in a matter-of-fact voice, "because the missing ear makes your head look lopsided."

It was completely insensitive, totally unexpected and the best thing George had heard in a long, long time. The small chuckle that spilled from his lips was a far cry from his old boisterous laughter, but it felt good.

"Why, thank you Luna."

And he strongly suspected that she knew he wasn't being entirely sarcastic.

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**A/N: **And that's it for now! I hope you enjoyed it. George is starting to act a tiny bit more like himself, though it still seems forced, and Luna makes her return. I'd love to hear what you think, and I apologize for the many typos I'm sure are there. Again, not having a beta is rough sometimes.

As always, much love,

-Vi


	4. Support

**A/N:** Thanks SOOO much for all the reviews! I love you guys. To answer Sian's question... this story is most certainly the latter, and I'm glad you like that. :D

So! Sorry this one took me more time than usual, but it's longer than the other chapters. I'm not crazy about the chapter, but it's necessary to setting up the next chapter, which should be the most eventful one.**  
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**Chapter 3  
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**"Support" **

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After their unexpected meeting a routine began to form. When he woke the next morning he looked out his bedroom window and was surprised to find Luna and her easel once again situated on the peak of the hill. He watched her from his window for a long moment before making a snap decision.

Dashing down the stairs and into the kitchen, George ignored his mother's surprised expression as he grabbed two peaches from the fruit basket and made a quick exit into the mud room.

"Goin' outside; call if you need me," he said over his shoulder before disappearing from room entirely. Pulling on a pair of boots that looked roughly his size, he left the house with no hesitation. However, by the time he had reached the foot of the hill a touch of now familiar uncertainty settled in his chest. Why was he doing this? Did it matter?

Despite his hesitance, his feet never stopped moving and soon found himself once again standing beside the petite blonde, watching her paint. For the first time he realized how tiny she really was, the top of her head only coming to a little above his chin. How such a small girl could have such a big presence was beyond him.

To his surprise, she turned away from her painting to look at him. She wasn't wearing her sunhat today, so he could see her large blue eyes much more clearly as they peered thoughtfully back at him. He felt distinctly like he was being inspected carefully for something.

"Want a peach?" he blurted out, holding one of the the fuzzy pink fruit out to her. She looked down at it and smiled vaguely.

"Sure," she said, her little, paint-splattered hand reaching out and plucking the proffered peach from his palm. "Thank you."

She looked away and said nothing more. Placing the peach between her teeth and holding it there, she returned to her painting. George watched her in amazement as she painted, occasionally stopping to remove the peach from her mouth, take a bite out of it then return it to her mouth once again and continue painting.

Slowly lowering himself to his spot in the grass beside her legs, George pulled out his own peach to eat. He ate slowly, hypnotized by the sight of Luna's new painting beginning to take form. It was a half finished image of a large cottage surrounded by flowers.

"Where is that?" he heard himself asking through a mouthful of peach.

"Oh, it's the home Daddy and I are building," she told him happily, "Of course, it's not quite done yet, but this is how it's going to look when everything is ready."

Luna went on to tell him in a happy voice all about the house she and her father were building to replace the one that had been destroyed. Apparently they decided to clear all the rubble from their old house and rebuild on the other side of the property, closer to the river. She then said something about "plimpies" that he didn't even try to understand, and trailed off, her paintbrush picking up describing where her voice left off.

George was silent as she spoke, enjoying listening to her talk. He envied the way she saw the world, constantly full of promise and flowers. It had been a long time since he felt that promise from life.

Then he realized exactly why he came to sit by her side again today. Luna saw the beauty in the world, everything that he was having such a hard time seeing since Fred had died, and being with her made him feel like he could see it too, if only through her eyes.

And so it became their tradition. Every morning George would look out the window, and if Luna and her easel were there he would go out to join her. About three times a week he would spend the morning sitting in the grass, watching her paint and eating his breakfast. The first day he saw her after he brought the peaches he came up beside her to find a wicker basket full of freshly baked muffins sitting at her side. He didn't even have to ask, he knew they were for him. It was a little touching, actually, and after that day they took turns bringing breakfast to share.

Some days they would talk the entire time he sat there. Luna would regale him on the crazy things her and her father were writing about in the Quibbler or give him news on how the house was coming along. In turn, he would tell her stories from his school days or talk to her about his family and Harry. On a couple of occasions they even had friendly debates about everything from the worst flavor of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans (Luna said bark was the worst but he insisted that booger was far nastier) to the future of the Malfoy family (they agreed that an extended supervised house arrest was fair).

Other times they didn't say a single word to each other the entire time. He would arrive, eat and leave without so much as a "hi" or "goodbye." Luna seemed to know which day's these were and said nothing either, painting in comfortable silence.

George never said anything about their morning meetings to his family. It seemed somehow very separate from the rest of his life, and he liked it that way. His relationships within the family were still strained and awkward and he didn't particularly feel like sharing his peaceful mornings with them.

His relationship with his mother was particularly uncomfortable. She alternated between being angry at him for reasons he could never keep up with and doting on him obsessively. He dealt with it, knowing her grief was making to hard for her to deal with him in general. Not only was he a constant reminder of her loss, but he was also acting nothing like the George she was accustomed to. Hell, he was getting a little frustrated with himself about that too.

There were moments when he felt a joke tickling his tongue or a clever pun circling in his head, but every time he opened his mouth to deliver one out loud (more out of habit than anything) it would get stuck in his throat, and he just couldn't dislodge it, no matter how much he wanted to. Apparently his sense of humor was another casualty of the Second War.

It bothered him more than he could possibly explain to his family. His defining characteristic was gone, and he frankly didn't know or like who he was without it. In fact, the loss of his sense of humor bothered him so much that it eventually overwhelmed him, and he blurted it out to the only person he knew who would really listen.

"Luna," he implored her one morning out of the blue, breaking the silence that they had fallen into, "What if I never get my humor back?"

To his surprise, she laughed. He had once heard Bill say that he loved Fleur's laugh because it sounded like the tinkling of bells. Luna's laugh sounded nothing like bells; it was silly and hearty and full of honest mirth. George found that he liked the sound far better than the tinkling of bells.

"You haven't lost your sense of humor, George," she told him simply after a moment, smiling down at him, "Give it time."

"I'm not so sure," he said quietly, for the first time feeling like she didn't entirely understand.

"Why not?" she asked gently, still looking down at him with her impossibly blue eyes.

He hesitated, not expecting the inquiry. He tried to tell her; he really did, but there were so many dark thoughts fighting for dominance in his head he couldn't get them into any sort of order. Even if he could he wasn't sure he would tell her. He didn't want to associate happy, goofy little Luna Lovegood with any of the horrible things squirming in his head.

He said nothing, and Luna continued painting her picture of a nargle-infested willow in silence, not mentioning it again.

Standing to leave, he thought about the answers he almost gave to her question all the way back to the house.

He often couldn't finish his own thoughts, jokes or sentences anymore. His entire life he had someone to pick up the slack when he was struggling, faltering with words, and now that he was without it he was completely lacking in so many ways. He didn't know if that was the kind of thing that time healed. He had the feeling it was not.

Opening the door and stepping into the mud room, George began to kick off his old boots with some difficulty, his mind still preoccupied. He had the suspicion he had chosen a pair of boots that were slightly too small today. Finally prying them off his feet and discarding them into the pile already by the door, he turned to enter the kitchen.

He froze in the doorway, his eyes widening slightly.

Percy sat at the kitchen table, staring vacantly at the woodgrain in the table through red-rimmed eyes. His hair was longer than George had seen it in years and had an air of general neglect and untidiness. Even his normally ridged posture was slumped and defeated, making him look far smaller than George could ever remember him looking before.

As his mother bustled into the room he felt himself take a step back, obscuring himself behind the door frame.

"See now, Percy?" she said, setting a warm lunch down in front of him as she spoke, "I told you it would be nice a quiet down here today, what with Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny down at Diagon Alley and George out..." she seemed to hesitate. Percy finally looked up.

"Out where?" he asked quietly, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Well," she seemed uncertain whether she should be talking or not, "outside trying to get some fresh air, I imagine."

Percy said nothing, glancing down at the warm roast beef sandwich on his plate far too thoughtfully to actually be considering the sandwich itself. He reached a hand up to fiddle with one side of his horn-rimmed glasses, making them even more lopsided then they already were.

"Eat, eat!" Molly told him in a commanding but motherly voice, "You are far too thin as it is."

While it was hardly the first time she ever lamented on Percy's weight, George found it was the first time he really agreed. Percy had never been one of the sturdier-looking Weasleys (Charlie held that title, though George thought he held a firm second) but just then, collapsed in on himself as he was, he looked downright frail. Though always long-limbed and skinny, he had always carried himself with dignity and maturity that made him seem very solid. In comparison George was struck once again by how small and uncertain he looked as he sat quietly at their dinner table, bearing a slight resemblance to a wilting plant.

Percy, however, didn't seem particularly concerned about his weight. He picked up the sandwich indulgently and took one small bite before placing it back on his plate and dissecting it with his fork to make it look like he had eaten more than he had (a tactic all children with overbearing parents would recognize, George thought).

Their mother didn't seem to notice, however, as she was too busy bustling about the kitchen, summoning pots, pans and cooking ingredients from every corner of the house. George barely ducked in time to avoid the strainer that whipped over his head, apparently having been stored away in the cabinets in the mud room. Struck briefly by the image of himself tumbling unceremoniously into the kitchen, a dented strainer clattering by his head and his family looking on in shock, he sent a silent thanks to his old Quidditch reflexes before peeking back out.

"So, what do you say, Percy, dear?" she asked, deftly catching the rogue strainer as it reached her, "Wouldn't a nice family dinner be lovely?"

George leaned closer, curious. He certainly hadn't heard about any dinner.

"It will just be the family," she continued, undaunted by Percy's non-reaction, "well, and Harry and Hermione, but they are practically family already. Oh, and Harry said he may floo to the Tonks' and ask to bring Teddy... but really, he's almost like an nephew, isn't he?"

George resisted the slight urge to smirk. Their family seemed to be ever expanding without actually reproducing. It was no wonder Bill and Fleur were in no hurry.

"Will George be there?" he heard Percy's quiet voice ask, and George's slight amusement was immediately replaced by curiosity and confusion. His brother hadn't looked up when he asked, but it was obvious that he was waiting for an answer.

His mother, however, only looked a little exasperated. She waved her wand to set a pair of eggs to work cracking themselves then turned to face her slumped son.

"Of course he will be, Percy," she said in a odd, patronizing voice, reaching out to pat his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Mum," Percy said simply, standing from the table and escaping her hand as he spoke. It reminded George of his own reaction a couple weeks ago when his mother reached for him in the garden.

Maybe it was his lingering guilt over his behavior that day, or maybe it was just the curiosity that was so deeply ingrained in his personality, but he chose that moment to make his presence known. Walking quickly back to the door outside, he heaved it open, held it for a moment, then slammed it back shut. Acting as if he had just returned to the house, he walked boldly into the kitchen.

"Did I hear something about a dinner party?" he inquired, years of pranks and subterfuge working to his best advantage at the moment. He knew that they hadn't mentioned the dinner since his supposed 'entrance,' but he also knew that the surprise of his sudden (and noisy) arrival would be more than enough to make them overlook that minor inconsistency.

"Yes, it'll be a nice little family affair," Molly responded, her eyes never leaving Percy, who had frozen in place when his younger brother entered the room.

George really didn't mind anyway since his eyes were also trained on his brother. Behind Percy's horn-rimmed glasses a pair of searching blue eyes found George's face, halting there for a long moment. Watching in confusion, the younger Weasley brother didn't dare move while desperately trying to catch the eyes inspecting him carefully.

Without a word, Percy turned and left the kitchen, leaving both his mother and younger brother in a state of sad confusion.

Feeling slightly ill, George realized for the first time that he may not be the only person in their family who would never be the same. The little spike of anger he had felt for Percy weeks ago still existed, but he desperately pushed it down. He was going to figure out exactly what was wrong with his brother and try to help as best he could. George knew that he wasn't the person he used to be, but he'd be damned if he sat by and let a loved one slip away, especially since they had just got Percy back.

Besides, he knew it is what Fred would want, and that was more than enough incentive for him.

"Hey, Mum," he asked, his mind already working on forming a plan, "Can I bring someone to dinner?"

His mother looked surprised, looking away from the door Percy had exited through to where George stood.

"Oh course, dear," she said, completely bemused "Who?"

He just smiled faintly, saying nothing as he slid back into the mud room and pulled the too-small boots back on.

"George?" his mother called, but he was already half-way out the door. If he was going to try and help Percy he was going to need all the support he could get, and, though he wasn't quite sure when it happened, Luna Lovegood had become perhaps the most important support he had these days.

It should have confused him but instead he found that thought somehow very reassuring.

* * *

**A/N:** So that's chapter 3. As you can see, a lot is starting to come to a head at this point. In fact, I'm guessing there will only be a couple more chapters and an epilogue. They might take me a while, though, since I have a lot of hours at work this week. 

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, and I'd love to hear what you think!

-Vi


	5. Family

**A/N:** Waooo! This chapter was hella hard to write. I know it took a while, but it also turned out almost twice as long as the rest of my chapters. I really hope you all like this one. A lot happens, and I put a lot of work into it. SO ENJOY!

To Hermione's Cat: Hahaha... funny you should mention that. Just keep reading. :D

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**"Family"  
**

* * *

Luna seemed very pleased by George's invitation, her face going from slighting confused to delighted as he asked for her to join him at the 'family' dinner. The way her face lit up was just enough to make him smile minutely back at her. 

"Oh, that would be wonderful," she said, her eyes sparkling happily, "I'll ask Daddy as soon as I get home, but I'm sure he will say yes."

Luna began collapsing her easel, setting the painting aside in the grass as she slid the lightly colored wood structure under her arm. She reached for the painting, awkwardly holding it in front of her. George wondered for a moment how she managed to do this every day without ruining the wet paintings.

"Would you like to come with me?" she asked, sounding slightly uncertain of herself for the first time he could recall. She looked up at him, looking ridiculous with a bunch of used paint brushes tucked behind each ear and a smudge of blue paint on her nose. Between her bizarre appearance and imploring gaze he felt a warm surge of fondness for the small blonde girl standing beside him.

"Sure," he said, enjoying seeing her bright eyes crinkle when she smiled. If she was going come into his home life, he was willing to go into hers as well, no matter how weird it was. "Do you need me to carry anything?"

"No, I'm alright," she said, but he ignored her and carefully took the painting from her hands, mindful of the wet paint. She gave him a faint smile of thanks and started to walk down the hill towards the Lovegood property. As they walked through the grassy area between their homes George told her about his encounter with Percy and his mother in the kitchen.

"I'm not quite sure what to do," he told her when he finished his tale, running a hand through his fiery orange hair in frustration, "I want to help, but Percy doesn't even want to be in the same room with me."

Luna adjusted the easel under her arm, flipping her head to throw her hair out of her eyes a little. Her long straw-colored hair shifted slightly than promptly fell right back into her face. She didn't seem to care.

"Well, try and imagine how Percy must feel," she said gently, her voice distant and slightly sad, "He just returns to his family after a long, self-imposed absence, and next thing he knows he's watching his brother die right in front of him."

George felt a lump rise in his throat and looked away from her.

"His guilt must be awful, and seeing you must be more of a reminder of that than he can really handle right now."

Looking down at his feet, the remaining Weasley twin kicked the head off a seeding dandelion. The little white seeds puffed out and caught the wind, tossing and turning gracefully.

"What do you recommend I do about it then?" he asked slightly more harshly than he intended, "I don't want to just let him... wilt."

"Of course not," she said, unaffected by his sharp tone, "but maybe the best thing you can do is let him take things slowly. I mean... reintroduce yourself to him slowly, making sure to let him know you don't blame him for what happened."

"Yeah," he answered dully, unable to admit to her that there was some small part of him _did_ blame Percy. He didn't want to, he knew it was stupid, but he couldn't seem to squash that evil little voice in the back of his head that insisted that there must be _something_ he could have done to stop it...

"Oh look, Daddy is out working," he heard Luna say and glanced up thoughtlessly. His feet stilled in surprise as he looked at what was risen out of the meadow in front of them.

The skeleton of a small cottage had risen out of the grass, but it was hardly consistent with the image he had imagined of Luna's new home. It was far smaller than Luna's painting of it had implied, and, far more disturbing than that, the planks of wood meant to form it's outline were all sticking out of the ground at slightly different heights and angles. It looked like a house a child would make by jamming sticks into the ground, not the beginning of any home a person planned to actually live in.

Luna skipped the remaining distance to the build site where he could see her place the easel down and wave to her father, who was busy situating another crooked length of wood into the ground.

George felt distinctly awkward, uncertain what to say to the Lovegoods about their bizarre little house frame. He wasn't generally a judgmental person, he hoped (I mean, his house wasn't exactly a perfect example of architecture either) but he found the prospect of Luna living in the precariously constructed building in front of him slightly frightening.

"George!" Luna called, waving him over with her long, thin arms. He went, having a hard time taking his eyes off the house in front of him.

"Isn't it wonderful?" Luna said in a breathy voice, misinterpreting his fascination with the cottage.

"Yeah, it's," he hesitated, not inclined to lie, "...unique."

Luna smiled serenely.

"Daddy is building it entirely by hand. Like a muggle," she told him proudly, "He won't let me help too much, though. He's worried I'm too small to manage the wood beams correctly."

George would contend that Mr. Lovegood couldn't manage the wood beams too well himself, judging by the way the frame looked, but at least agreed that Luna was probably best not trying to do heavy manual labor. She was far too slight and far too scatterbrained for such things.

Brought out of his thoughts by the feel of Luna's small hand sliding into his own, George let her lead him across the remaining distance to her father. The three of them talked for a short time before George heard himself offer to help build the little cottage. Mr. Lovegood looked reluctant, but his eyes scanned thoughtfully across the broad-shouldered, steady build of the younger man and promptly accepted the offer.

As they worked through the afternoon, George found he really enjoyed the physical work. It was warm out and moving the heavy wooden planks was hard and awkward, but he liked the feel of the burn in his muscles and the sweat that gathered at his brow. It had been a long time since he had worked like that, and he found is was a good way to clear his mind.

Luna had settled down in the grass, lying with her hands behind her head and watching the clouds drifting lazily overhead. Occasionally she would sit up to watch them silently or fetch them water when they appeared to be getting particularly thirsty.

George took these opportunities when neither Lovegood was watching to cast quick, sneaky spells to straighten and strengthen the most unstable looking of the wooden beams. He suspected Luna noticed, but she didn't say anything so he assumed she approved at least on some level.

After a few hours George excused himself to head back to the house and prepare for dinner. Mr. Lovegood couldn't answer his dismissal, gasping and swaying unsteadily under the large piece of wood swinging about on his shoulder. George couldn't see Luna except for the hand that raised out of the grass to wave goodbye.

When he arrived back at the Burrow so much was going on that he almost made it past the kitchen without his mother noticing his entrance. Unfortunately, Mrs. Weasley turned around just in time to see him trying to sneak past her into the sitting room. Having had so many children, she seemed to have a radar for sneaking.

"George! My goodness, boy, what on Earth have you been up to?" she cried, bustling over, and pushing his sweaty red hair out of his face. He squirmed away.

"Mother!" he grumbled, irritated, "I need to wash up."

"Well, I noticed that!" she replied sharply, "Go, go, silly boy! What are you waiting for?"

Used to his mother's odd temperament, George ignored her behavior and quickly scooted into the hallway to avoid another mood swing. As he walked to the stairs he heard a number of familiar voices talking in hushed tones in the sitting room. He paused when he thought he heard his name interjected into the conversation. After a moment he heard it again, and this time he was was positive it was his name being uttered.

While it had become his tendency to ignore the hushed whispers about him he sometimes overhead, this time he felt the urge to at least make his presence known. He was tired of people talking _about _him and never _to _him. It made him feel like either a small, stupid child or someone terminally ill, and he didn't fancy being either, really.

Deciding to make his entrance as dramatic as possible (for effect, of course) he threw himself suddenly and loudly into the sitting room, proclaiming in a boisterous voice:

"What is this devious foursome up to?"

His surprise tactics worked surprisingly well. Hermione jumped nearly off the couch, her hand flying to her chest in a classic 'I-can't-breathe' pose and her eyes going comically wide. Seated next to her Harry was deathly still, having jerked just enough to knock his glasses completely askew than freezing. He didn't seem to realize his spectacles where barely perched on the tip of his nose, or just didn't care enough to fix it. Ginny's reaction was more subtle, her hands flying to her long, braided hair and toying with the edges thoughtlessly. Had he not been her brother he may not have recognized the nervous habit for what is was.

"Uh, hi, George," Ron muttered, his face and ears flushed and his eyes glued to his shoes. He seemed particularly uncomfortable.

"We were just wondering who you were bringing to dinner," Ginny said in an almost convincing cover, "Mum was going nutters about you not telling her."

"Oh, just someone I ran into the other day," he said enigmatically, turning to leave the startled foursome. Having accomplished his goal, he now had no reason to stay. Leaving them in awkward silence, George exited the room and jogged quietly up the stairs.

Midway through his accent he paused once more in front of Percy's door. His mind told him to just leave him be like Luna said, but he couldn't ignore the nagging part of him that insisted he say something to his brother. Anything was better than nothing, wasn't it?

He rapped his knuckles lightly on the old wooden door. There was no answer.

"Eh, Percy, open up," he called, pressing his forehead lightly on the door. He knew Percy wouldn't answer. Choosing to continue, he pressed closer still and murmured through the door, "Listen, I get not wanting to come down and everything... I really do. But I think it would mean a lot to Mum and everyone if you came down for a bit."

Deciding to leave it at that, George continued his journey to his room without another word. When he arrived he selected a decent (and, more importantly, clean) outfit from his closet and grabbed his shower accessories from his desk. It was a rare gift that he was able to get right into the shower without having to fight one of his siblings for the bathroom.

The shower felt nice, washing away the sweat and grime and relaxing his over-worked muscles. He scrubbed at his face particularly hard, loving the fresh feeling it left him with. Fred used to say it was like he was trying to scrub his freckles off when he washed his face in the sink.

"Sorry, mate, but no matter how hard you scrub you're still going to be as speckled as the rest of us," he had said, and George thought if he listened hard enough he could almost hear Fred laughing quietly under the rush of the shower water. He wasn't sure if that made him sad or happy, so he decided to just turn the shower off and get dressed.

Running a towel quickly over his hair, he pulled on a loose pair of brown trousers and a dark wine-colored sweater that clashed a little with his hair. Quickly running his fingers through his ginger hair, he exited from the steamy bathroom and into the noisy house.

The Burrow was alive with a large variety of different voices and footsteps, almost all of which were coming from downstairs. As much as he had changed, George was still drawn to the boisterous flurry of activity. Hopping down the stairs he suddenly found himself instantly amid a flurry of people and voices. In a matter of seconds he caught sight of Bill's ponytail disappearing into the kitchen, received a thump on the back from his father and accepted Hermione's offer to join everybody in the sitting room.

Following Hermione's wild bush of hair into the room, George almost found himself overwhelmed by the number of people in the room. Being part of a large group was something that he had once thrived on, but without his twin by his side he felt uncharacteristically shy and alone as they looked up to him.

He ended up sitting next to Harry who, oddly enough, was sitting by himself on an old plush love-seat. When Ginny entered the room a moment later George almost stood to let her sit by Harry but hesitated when he saw her and Harry avert their eyes from each other. As he watched Harry pick at the corner of one of his nails, he realized that they had been sitting across the room from each other when he had interrupted their murmuring earlier. A touch of curiosity stirred in his chest as he glanced between the two.

"Oh, hello everybody. Am I late?" he heard Luna's misty voice float over the conversations already taking place in the room. Looking up he felt a tingle of fondness for the girl standing slightly uncertainly in the doorway.

Luna looked pretty in her own quirky way. Her long, wavy hair was tied up in a very loose knot on top of her head, a couple small pieces tumbling down her back and into her face. She was wearing a 1950's style butter-cream dress over a pair of leopard-print tights and finished it all of with bright plum ballet slippers. To his amusement, George noticed her butterbeer cork necklace resting overtop the entire bizarre ensemble.

"Luna!" Harry said, obviously surprised, "What are you doing here?"

"George invited me," she said warmly, smiling at Harry.

The remaining Weasley twin felt a few pairs of curious eyes turn on him but neither George nor Luna chose to elaborate. Instead Luna took a seat by Ginny, tucking her long, skinny legs under herself and quietly listening to the conversations in the room. She only spoke when asked questions, and only caught George's eyes once, giving him a small smile.

It was easy to forget how socially awkward Luna normally was when they were on their hill and talk came so naturally between them, but seeing her looking so small and quiet just then it struck him how uncertain she looked. It was surprising. She never seemed to care what people thought, but when he watched her carefully he saw a particular fragility to her just then. He really wished she was sitting closer to him so maybe the calm they usual shared would rub off on her a little.

"Dinner is ready!" Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen, and the reaction instantaneous. Ron literally leapt from his seat towards the kitchen, nearly knocking Hermione to the floor in the process. George wondered vaguely if she minded that she would always come second when it came to Ron's love for food.

As they all piled into the kitchen George felt Luna's hand brush against his own accidentally. He wasn't quite sure why he did it, maybe it was the memory of her looking to tiny on the couch, but he took her dainty hand in his much larger, much rougher one and gave it a quick squeeze. He let go a split second later, the adoration in the dazzling smile she gave him burned into his brain permanently.

They got separated as they sat down, George in between Ron and Ginny and Luna settling beside the oddly quiet Harry. The Boy-Who-Lived glanced up and her and gave her an odd, thoughtful smile which she returned.

George was quickly distracted when his mother bustled in, bowls, trays and pots of delicious food floating in front of her extended wand.

"Is everyone ready to e..." Molly Weasley trailed off, her eyes locked on the doorway to the kitchen and her mouth going slightly slack.

Percy stood in the entrance to the kitchen, his eyes on his shoes and his hand playing once again with the edge of his glasses. He must have showered after George had because despite his hair still being long and unkempt it was at least wet and clean from a recent washing.

"Percy, dear!" George heard his mother cry in a poorly-concealed teary voice, "How lovely. Why don't you take a seat here, right next to Miss Lovegood."

Luna seemed undisturbed by the unintentionally rough pat on the head Mrs. Weasley gave her, even though it knocked her hair partially out of its band and into her face. She smiled tamely at Percy through the curtain of dirty blond hair. He sat stiffly and awkwardly next to her, nearly banging into the table when Bill slapped him heartily on the back. Percy awkwardly pushed his glasses back up his face.

"Hey, Perce," Bill said, his wide grin still handsome on his scarred face. It didn't seem fair to George that Bill's scars left him a rugged war hero while his own scar just made his head look lopsided. That was just how life went, he supposed.

"What are you all waiting for?" his mother said, the massive amounts of food she had cooked settling on the table.

There was no more hesitation. Steaming hot pork, potatoes and vegetables made their way onto ever plate in varying amounts, Ron's plate almost completely hidden beneath food and Ginny's neatly arranged into careful proportions. Everyone else took some amount in between, George himself taking a particularly large spoonful of roasted redskin potatoes.

Everyone ate and talked loudly, Harry and Ginny asking Luna questions about her life since they had seen her last and Mrs. Weasley trying to subtly ask Bill if Fleur was pregnant yet. George noticed that in addition to himself the only other person not talking was Percy, who shoved his food around on his plate quietly,

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye he saw Ron's fork slowly move towards the last redskin potato George had left on his plate. He wasn't sure quite how it all happened but the next thing he knew he was scream-whispering in a time-perfected imitation of his mother's voice:

"NOT MY POTATO, YOU BITCH!"

Harry snorted water up nose and coughed weakly, then there was silence. For a moment everyone at the table sat in stunned muteness. Then Luna started laughing uncontrollably in her loud, crazy way, and it seemed to break the spell that had fallen over the table.

"George!" his mother shrieked in a way he hadn't heard in a while, turning bright red from her neck to her hairline

Harry laughed, trying to hide it behind his hand, Ron let out a loud guffaw, Bill snorted in amusement and Hermione tried (and failed) to look stern. Luna beamed at him, an unspoken 'I told you so' passing between them. For the first time in what seemed like a lifetime George felt a comfortable mischievous grin settle on his face.

"D-don't do that!"

George's eyes snapped to Percy who had stood up so fast his chair nearly flipped over. Confused, he felt his grin slowly slipping off his face.

"What-" he began to say but Percy turned and quickly tried to storm out of the room. The flare of anger that he had hidden in his chest roared to life as understanding fell upon him. He stood too, his hands clenched by his side.

"Don't what, Percy?" he heard himself say a little louder than he should have.

"George..." he heard someone say in a warning tone, but he ignored it.

Percy paused, looking back towards him but never at him. He seemed to be struggling with something, his eyes looking everywhere except at his brother. George felt a surge of hatred like nothing he had ever felt for his family before.

"Don't do what Percy?" he asked again, this time in a quiet hissing voice he hadn't known he possessed.

"George, don't-" his mother began to warn nervously but the surge of spite that had risen in his chest was consuming him.

"Don't look so much like Fred?" he guessed, his voice angry and tight. Everyone fell silent, most having not heard him say his twin's name since he died, "Is that what you were going to say, Percy?"

He knew he had hit the mark when Percy looked down at his side guiltily.

"Don't SMILE like him, or SOUND like him, or be SO DAMN MUCH LIKE HIM?" George found himself yelling at not just Percy but all his family. All the anger and frustration of the past few months seemed to be rolling over him all at once. Everyone at the table sat stone-still, shocked by the outburst of anger that seemed to be consuming him.

"He's DEAD," he cried, his words hurting himself as much as his older brother at his point, "You should know better than me about that, eh, Percy? You saw it. YOU SAW HIM DIE."

Percy didn't move, seemingly unable to say or do anything.

"I'm- I'm SICK of it," George cried, surprised to feel a tear roll down his cheek, "Look at me! For once, all of you... LOOK AT ME, DAMMIT!"

Percy glanced up and their eyes met for the first time in what seemed to be an eternity. There was so much sadness and guilt shining back at him, and George realized he wasn't the only one crying. He had hurt his brother horribly, and he he wanted to stop more than anything. He didn't want to hurt Percy anymore but he just couldn't stop the words from spilling out of his mouth.

"I'm not... I'm not Fred," he heard himself say in a quiet, broken voice that couldn't have been his own, "I'm sorry."

He was drained. All his anger and emotion had spilled out, leaving him feeling nothing more than tired and a little guilty as he stared out at his family through watery eyes. They all were looking at him in a bizarre mixture of shock and horror on their faces. Harry seemed tired and sad, but there was empathy in his eyes that George found uncomfortable. He wanted to see Luna's reaction, but for some reason he couldn't bear to look at her.

"I'm sorry," he repeated quietly, then like a coward, he turned and fled.

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**A/N:** A couple things to say... Firstly, you have to know George would make fun of his mother for that. He HAS to. Secondly, I think anger is a big, ugly part of grief, and I really wanted to show how hard it is going to be for George really even START to heal. So this happened. In general, this chapter really ran away with me... I hope it worked for you all. 

Thanks SO much for all the reviews. I have a tendency to abandon stories, but this one has gotten so much great feedback that I manage to keep going, even though the hard chapters like this one. Much love you guys, and keep reviewing!

-Vi


	6. Bonds

**A/N:** Sorry this took so long for such a short, uneventful chapter! My life is super busy right now, between work and getting ready for my Freshman year of college. I really appreciate all the response I've gotten for the last chapter and I'm working as hard as I can to get this all done.

BTW- I'm glad so many of you got a kick out of the potato line. :D Now, on to the next chapter!

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**Chapter 5**

**"Bonds"  
**

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It had been nearly a week since his breakdown in the kitchen and George had taken to locking himself in his room. For the first couple days nobody disturbed him, not so much as asking him to come down for dinner. For these days George would wait until everybody had gone to sleep to go down and grab a drink and a small meal, usually a piece of fruit or toast. It wasn't much, but he really wasn't hungry. 

After a few days, however, people began knocking on his door trying to get a response for him. First was his mother, than slowly a parade of different people came by, knocking and talking to him through his wooden door. Ron even tried to bust in, but fortunately for George he and Fred had left the prototype of the SuperHidden Wealsey SuperSpringboard (name pending) by the entrance. Unfortunately it was a little TOO SuperHidden, blending into the floor like a chameleon, and Ron, who didn't know it's location like George did, was shot unceremoniously back into the hallway. Since then no one barged into his room under the rumor that it was booby-trapped.

By the end of the week he had ignored nearly every member of his family, Harry, Hermione and, oddly enough, Lee Jordan. He hadn't talked to Lee since the war and was amazed to hear his voice float through the door of his room one morning. He wondered who's idea it had been to contact him.

He spent most of his days sitting by the window, watching the world outside of it without actually seeing much of anything. He did notice that Luna never returned to their hill, though, which made him terribly sad. The thought that he had scared away someone so pure and kind made him feel somehow tainted. More than that, though, he found he actually missed her simply as Luna, not just as the girl who listened or as the person who understood what he was feeling. He even missed hearing her tell him about her father's ridiculous theories.

"George? George, darling, won't you come down for breakfast?" he heard his mother ask through the door, her voice trembling slightly. George looked away, guilt eating at his insides. He was too ashamed to see his family and too guilty about ignoring them to even start getting over it. He listened in silence as his mother's footsteps disappeared down the stairs.

"Fred," he sighed, wishing he could believe that his brother would respond, "What would you think about all of this? I'm such a mess..."

He rested his forehead against the glass of the window, watching his reflection stare back at him sadly.

"George? May I come in?"

As distracted by his reflection as he was, even Luna's soft voice took him by surprise. His eyes locked on the door and his mouth opened slightly. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to see her, but he also dreaded it on some level.

Luna opened the door without him answering, glancing about the entrance with her wide blue eyes. She had a painting tucked under one arm and a basket grasped in the other, yet she still managed a graceful flying leap over the SuperSpringboard, twirled and leapt again across the remainder of the distance to his window, landing lightly a couple feet away from where he sat.

"They said you had it booby-trapped, but I told them it must be a Difflespurt spirit," she explained, her eyes scanning the room as if the Difflespurt would suddenly show itself, "They live in the floors and don't particularly like being tred on."

"Ah," George responded, "Actually it..." he hesitated, then trailed off. He like the idea of letting the rumor his room was haunted spread.

"Here, I brought you some breakfast," she offered, ignoring his unfinished sentence and offering him the basket in her arms. It was full of colorful pastries and muffins of every sort he could imagine, carefully tucked into the checkered cloth lining. They looked and smelled wonderful.

He really looked up at Luna, catching her eyes for the first time since the dinner fiasco. He expected her to look at him differently, but the change he saw there was not the one he had expected. There was a warm fondness sparkling back at him behind the understanding, dreamy expression he was used to. It was like he had endeared himself to her by attacking his emotionally unstable brother and throwing a fit.

"I don't understand," he told her quietly, hoping she would know what he meant. She smiled down at him and offered him a yellow pastry.

"I know," she said gently, "You're more angry with yourself than any of your family is with you. Even Percy feels that way."

He took the pastry reluctantly, looking dubious. How would Luna know?

"I mean it," she said, reaching out to pat his free hand softly, "Just go down and see."

George flipped the yellow pastry in his hands thoughtfully before finally taking a bite and chewing slowly.

"I don't know," he told her, taking her dainty hand into his own and giving it a small squeeze. The action that had seemed so unsure and awkward a week before somehow seemed comfortable and natural in their current situation. She looked down at their hands with a pleased look on her face, tilting her head thoughtfully.

"Well, we can stay up here for a little while if you would like," she said, "but I think it would mean a lot to your family if you came down soon. They are worried about you."

George didn't respond, not quite ready to agree but not wanting to disappoint Luna either. She seemed to accept this, sitting down across from him on the window ledge. She turned his hand over, taking it in both of her own and inspecting is carefully with her wide eyes and curious fingertips. He munched on his pastry thoughtlessly.

"Hey... what's that painting?" he asked suddenly, his eyes locking on the canvas that was resting against the wall by Luna's legs. It was turned around so all he could see was the blank backside of it.

Luna released his hand, looking down at her lap a little tentatively.

"It's for you, but I'm not certain you're going to want it," she told him, picking the painting up without turning it around and handing it to him. He held it in front of him, not looking down at it quite yet. Instead he looked at Luna, curiously tilting his head to the side.

"When did you do this?"

"I started it a while ago, but I really did most of it this week," she admitted, not looking up at him when she spoke. Instead she looked down at her hands which were twisting together in her lap. He noticed that a couple of spots on her nails had been stained by the pigments in paint, and it gave them a colorful, speckled look. It suited her somehow.

Looking back down at the painting, he flipped it over carefully in his hands so it rested face up on his lap. He felt his heart constrict tightly in his chest.

It was his own face that stared back up at him, yet at the same time he knew it wasn't, really. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was Fred staring back up at him from the canvas on his lap. His twin was laughing, his eyes crinkled in mirth and his mouth drawn into a comfortable grin that George knew so well. Luna had somehow captured the subtle differences between himself and his twin that even his own family had struggled with, and she had hardly known Fred.

"It's okay if you don't like it," he heard her say, "I know it may not be my place to give this to you."

Caressing the edges of the dry paint with his thumbs, he spoke without looking up, "Why did you do this?"

"Well, I used to watch you two when we were in the DA together. I always thought that you were amazing, the way your interacted and planned things so seamlessly together without ever having to ask what the other was thinking. And I... I know how easy it is to forget what our loved ones were really like when we are so distracted by our grief," Luna's soft speech faltered for a moment before she continued, "This is how I will always remember Fred. I wanted to give you this so that maybe one day you can remember him like this, like I do, and not just as someone precious you lost."

George was floored. Their eyes found each other and something profound passed between them unspoken. He wasn't sure if it was gratitude, friendship or something else, but he did know that right there in that moment Loony Luna Lovegood was his favorite person in the entire world.

Unable to find the right words to express what he felt, he just leaned forward and pulled her awkwardly into a tight hug. It was very uncomfortable since they were sitting facing each other on the window sill; their legs got in the way and Luna was so slight she got completely enveloped by his arms and broad shoulders.

Slightly amused by the odd attempt at a hug, George decided to remedy the situation in the only way he could think to fix it. With all the grace he could muster he stood, picking Luna clear off the floor in the process. The small girl trapped in his arms gave a small surprised noise but let him continue, trusting him not to drop her. Giving her his best bear hug, he swung her back and forth a couple of times before setting her back on her feet and letting her go.

She looked adorable, her face a blotchy red color and her hair mussed worse than he had ever seen it. She didn't bother to try to fix it to he took the liberty to straighten it out and flatten it down as best he could.

"Thank you," he finally said, knowing she must understand how much it meant to him by his crushing hug but feeling the urge to say it anyway, "Now, where do you think we should hang it?"

Luna seemed to have recovered a little and smiled warmly at him, her face still a little pinker than usual. She seemed flattered that he wanted to hang the picture at all

"I think it would look rather nice by your Weasley Wizard Wheezes poster, don't you?" she suggested, gesturing at the orange and maroon poster on the far wall.

"I do think I agree," he said, taking his wand off his nightstand and waving it lazily at the painting sitting on the window sill. It whizzed across the room, situated itself on wall, then, with a soft plunger-like noise, adhered itself to the wall.

They both just stood in silence, their eyes locked on the painting hanging on the other side of the small room. Fred's laughter seemed to haunt the room, a spector of the brother that would never return there. It was sad, but also reassuring in a way.

"Uh, George?" Ron's muffled voice broke the silence from beyond the door, "Can I come in? Safely?"

Luna giggled, amused by Ron's trepidation. George wasn't quite sure he wanted to see his family just yet, but he wasn't sure he'd ever really be ready. Catching Luna's gaze briefly, he made a decision.

"Sure. Open the door and jump," he called back.

"Do what?" Ron called back, sounding utterly disgruntled. Luna giggled again, and George grinned.

"Open the door up and jump. There's a... Gifflespurt right inside the door."

"A _what_?"

"Just do it!"

Ron still seemed very uncertain, pushing the door open slowly and looking intently at the floor as if it would leap up and attack him (which wasn't a completely unfounded fear he supposed). Finally, taking a small step backwards and made a gangly, uncoordinated hop over the Springboard, landing loudly in the middle of the floor. He glanced about nervously for a moment before straightening up and trying to gather his wits about him again.

George fought the urge to grin at his brother's utter lack of grace. Some things never change.

"What do you need, Ron?" he asked, feeling oddly comfortable around his younger brother. Of all his family he felt like Ron was the one he was most ready to see, since he too had a tendency to say stupid things.

Ron seemed as if he was uncertain whether he was on the verge of saying one of those dumb things right them, rubbing the back of his slightly flushed neck and stalling. George knew his brother well enough to know that staying silent was the best encouragement he could give. If he said something it would either add pressure to him or give him an excuse to say nothing at all.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go to Diagon Alley with Harry, Hermione, Ginny and me," he said, tugging at the edge of his hair and staring towards the upper-righthand corner of the room. He seemed determined to look everywhere but at his older brother.

"Your grammar is rather poor, you know," Luna responded as George processed what his brother was asking, "But the trip sounds lovely, doesn't it George?"

He wasn't so sure. Seeing Luna and Ron was one thing, but being out in public and seeing his old shop... he wasn't so sure about that. Part of him was dying to get out of the house but a larger, stronger part of him was petrified by the idea. The idea of seeing the shop dead, empty and covered in dust was just too much for him.

He opened his mouth to decline the offer when he caught Luna's eyes in his peripheral vision. Her large blue eyes were sparkling hopefully in his direction, silently pleading with him. His refusal lodged itself in his throat and got stuck there.

"You can come too, Luna," Ron offered, seemingly having a rare moment of insight. He must have noticed the silent conversation the two were having because he still looked too miffed by the grammar comment to just be inviting Luna out of kindness.

"That would be wonderful," the small blonde said, taking his hand in both of hers and giving them a hopeful squeeze. Ron followed their interaction with raised eyebrows. George fought with himself for a moment, than sighed.

"Alright," he conceded, his eyes catching the beautiful painting hanging across the room, "When are we going?"

"As soon as Hermione floos in from her parent's place," his brother responded, still looking slightly befuddled by the interaction between George and Luna. He seemed to decided not to say anything and just waved in an awkward 'goodbye' over his shoulder and turned to leave. George opened his mouth, but it was too late.

Ron had forgotten to jump the springboard and paid for it accordingly. With the sound of a spring releasing he was thrown violently out the door and into the hallway where he collided roughly with the far wall. George would have worried for his health, but the string of unique cursing that spilled from his lips was enough to assure him that he hadn't hit his head too hard.

Luna, on the other hand, seemed worried. She leapt gracefully several times to cross the room, reminding George strongly of a gazelle, before landing by Ron's side and offering him a hand.

"Your grammar may be poor, but your profanity is excellent," she told him, her tone like that of a compliment. Ron seemed torn between irritation and confusion, finally settling on just shaking his head and taking her proffered helping hand.

As he watched them George felt himself ginning despite everything negative swirling around inside of him. He wasn't looking forward to seeing Diagon Alley for confronting his family, but he found he wasn't really dreading it anymore either.

He knew this change was largely because of Luna. Her presence, her her kindness and her unwavering companionship gave him something solid to hang onto, something he hadn't had since Fred had been torn from his life. She had seen him at his worst and at his most emotionally naked and came back anyway. She seemed to understand what was going on with him better than he did sometimes. More than anything, though, she seemed to still enjoy being around him anyway.

She turned and smiled at him, and he knew he owed her the world.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry about the lack of drama in this chapter. I wanted to use this chapter to have George really start to realize how important his relationship with Luna is, but it was very hard to write such a subtle thing. 

So here is the scoop... I leave for college in less than five days. Depending on how much time I have and how well everything comes together, a couple of different things could happen with LoaDH. I originally intended to have one more chapter and an epilogue, but if time is tighter than that I may combine the two. I want to get as much of it done as I can before I leave, but it may take a longer time to get everything done since my life really is much busier than it was when I started this fic.

So the gist is this: I'm hoping you all can be patient and keep up the lovely reviews even if it takes me a little longer than usual. I'll be working my tail off as best I can!

Much love, as always.

-Vi


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